


More Or Less

by charliescastiel



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Star Trek Beyond, Star Trek Beyond Spoilers, cliché use of chess, spock prime - Freeform, the conversation they should have had in beyond, these assholes actually communicating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9209330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliescastiel/pseuds/charliescastiel
Summary: Spock and Jim have grown distant, neither of them really know how, they just kind of drifted apart and don't really know how to communicate anymore. Following the events on Altamid and at Yorktown, this is the conversation they should have had post Star Trek: Beyond based on the "more or less" omission of any kind of significant disclosure from the final scene. Featuring actual discussion re: leaving Starfleet, mutual pining and the loss of Spock Prime.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for months and for the majority of that time I've been completely blocked. I'm not particularly or at all happy with this and I hope it's not too out of character since I work harder on characterisation than probably anything else. Anyway, this is my first Kirk/Spock piece though I have multiple ideas in the pipeline, and the first thing I've written in a long while.  
> Like everything I write, this is cheesy and terrible and I'm really sorry. It's almost 6.5k and somehow I feel like I didn't manage to say anything that I originally wanted to, but I feel like this is the best it's going to get for now. Perhaps I'll revise it tomorrow or just straight up change my mind and delete it.  
> Despite this lack of faith in myself, I am actually really excited to write and post more this year and hey maybe I'll finally get over my fear of writing smut. Don't get your hopes up though. If you can, if you like or hate this, please leave some kind of reaction, whether its a comment or just a kudos, feedback is very important to me.

Two months after Krall’s attack on Yorktown, the crew gathers for the christening ceremony of the Enterprise-A, once she is rebuilt and ready for her maiden voyage. She’s not the same ship; the Enterprise still lies burnt out and belly up on the surface of Altamid and it hurts, but somehow the pain is lessened through the knowledge of knowing his family is still intact at least.

They resume their five-year mission but it takes a while for things to get back to normal. Some of the crew don’t return from their shore leave on Yorktown; too traumatised and afraid of the potential dangers that lurk in deep unexplored space, their once bright and curious eyes burnt out by too much loss. Jim doesn’t judge them or think any less of them and signs off all the paperwork with only a sincere thank you for their service and a promise from them to be good to themselves. He suspects some of them had been searching for an excuse to leave Starfleet anyway, just as he had, the drain of their mission taking its toll. He wonders what it says about him that his motivation was lit anew by the adrenaline of a mission gone awry, filled with destruction and life or death situations. He consciously does not dwell on it.

He senses that something has changed in Spock. It should be expected, of course, after his near death experience. But this is Spock. The thing is, Jim has a feeling that this change began before Altamid, not after. And he doesn’t have a clue how to deal with it.

Jim wishes he had told Spock about his disenchantment with captaincy before the whole incident with Krall, and especially after it. He has no idea how Spock would have reacted, if at all, but a large part of him still wishes he could have known. It leaves him feeling unsettled and hollow, they've grown distant and secretive, no longer confiding everything in each other like in those first few years. Jim doesn't know what changed, but he has a feeling it is his fault. It’s a pattern: he does this. He pulls away from those he holds dearest as if it will save them from the inevitable pain, or maybe he's trying to save himself.

It's just over a month into their resumed mission, the crew have adapted to the new ship with the ease of those whose sense of home and belonging lies in people, not places. Jim is glad to be surrounded by it. He feels like the balance is finally beginning to shift from afraid to cautiously curious the more successful missions they log and rather than feel melancholy about the return to normality, he actually feels grateful that things are going alright. The memory of how dangerous and unpredictable space can be is still prevalent, creating a buzz of anxiety and adrenaline that lingers as they venture further and further into uncharted space each day, unsure of what they might find.

The turbolift doors part, shaking him out of his musings. He walks onto the officer’s deck and makes his way along the corridor to his quarters. It's been a long shift, the kind of long that comes from sheer ordinariness of a day on a starship patrolling a solar system set well into Federation space with little chance of a metaphorical spanner in the works. Jim feels torn, he feels guilty about his irrational longing for excitement and adventure, but knows he shouldn’t wish for anything that would jeopardize his crew, threaten the peace. He doesn’t want war or struggle, doesn’t believe with any part of himself that that is what makes humanity strong. But challenges, that’s different. It’s an innate desire, one he’s never been able to shake off, even if over the years he's learnt to control it.

Before they arrived at Yorktown, Jim started to feel like he might never feel that adrenaline again, might never feel alive again, his spark for curiosity and exploration snuffed out by the motions of the mundane. More than anything he feels ashamed that he became so disenchanted with captaincy less than three years into the mission, when at one point five years in deep space was just about the most exciting prospect he’d ever heard, hitting Spock excitedly on the arm in sheer anticipation. He felt like a fraud, a disappointment.

Around half way though the mission he began to measure time via the frequency of PADDs shoved in his face requiring his signature on various reports, observations and requests from other departments that would then be logged with Starfleet command. The PADDs appeared with a startling consistency that Spock could probably calculate down to the millisecond.

 _Spock_.

Jim pauses outside his quarters, his fingers hovering over the access pad. Spock had been quiet all shift today, his posture perfect as he sat at his science station. That in itself is not unusual, but that Jim actually had to turn in his chair to check he was still there several times as he made absolutely no indication of his presence was a cause for alarm. Now that Jim thought about it, it wasn’t just today, Spock had been like this - withdrawn, absent - since they left Yorktown. Maybe even before.

He’d brushed it aside, excused it, because a lot of the crew were reacting differently to their latest ‘adventure’. He knows he shouldn’t have ignored it, shouldn’t have let it get to this point. What point exactly, he isn’t sure, but Spock is not okay, and even if he’s Vulcan and will never admit to that, Jim has to talk to him, at least.

He pushes the button on the access panel next to the code pad. “Computer, locate crew member Commander Spock.” _Observation room D, deck twelve._ The computer responds. Jim only hesitates a fraction of a second before turning on his heel back to the turbolift.

He taps his fingers anxiously against the wall of the lift, as if he can draw strength from the very vibrations he feels under his fingertips. It helps. Within moments the doors are opening again and he steps out onto the quiet deck, the lighting sparse at this time to emulate an Earth evening; shadows cast dramatically across the doorways. Jim thinks about his last moments on the bridge of the Enterprise before his Kelvin pod ejected, their usually bright white console full of light and hope, of curiosity and family now dark and empty, bathed in the ugly shade of the ‘red alert’. It felt macabre to see the bridge that way, the harsh shade extinguishing anything good in every place it touched, its shadows dangerous instead of comforting. A wave of nausea sweeps through him, he lost his ship and almost a third of his crew. The weight of guilt and responsibility sits heavy on him and keeps him awake late into the night, no matter how many times Bones attempts to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, that there’s no way they could have predicted it was an ambush, and there was nothing they could have done to save the Enterprise. That they had no chance.

It doesn’t stop Jim from replaying the scene over and over and over. His greatest failure. He thinks desperately of solutions that may or may not have worked, unsettled that he’ll never get to know. He wonders if his father would be proud of him now. If Pike would be proud.

The dim lighting on this deck feels different though, safe somehow, like the shroud of a darkened room where secrets are shared in confidence. He shakes himself from his thoughts as he approaches the observation deck and wonders if it’s unusual to find Spock here at this time of night instead of in his quarters or the science labs and is troubled to realise he doesn’t know anymore.

The door moves aside automatically but it takes him a few moments to locate Spock in the otherwise empty expanse of a room. He is stood in the far right corner, posture perfect and hands clasped behind his back, staring outwards at the stars as they warp past, his face betraying no obvious expression. Jim can see the tightness of his brows and the minute downturn of his lips though and it’s all but a confirmation of his theory.

He steps up beside him, clasping his own hands behind his back and trying to stand straighter as if he will ever be able to emulate Vulcan posture. He wonders how long Spock has been stood here and why he hasn’t sat down yet when there’s a perfectly good couch four steps away. He makes sure to tread with enough force to be heard by Vulcan ears, but delicate enough so as not to spook him in case he’s meditating or something. Spock doesn’t move or acknowledge Jim’s presence in any way, but Jim knows that Spock knows he’s there and that he’s waiting for Jim to speak first. He doesn’t know how he knows this, but he’s certain in its truth.

“Never gets old, does it?” Jim smiles, looking out of the viewport as the stars warp by.

“Captain?”

“The view. Space.” He resists the urge to gesture wildly.

“Ah.” Spock says. “The light of the stars we are witnessing currently range from four to three million lightyears, so in fact, incredibly old.”

“I meant-“

“I am aware of your intended meaning.” Spock interrupts. “And I agree.” He adds quietly, as if he’s revealing too much.

Jim wants to roll his eyes or smack him playfully on the arm, he doesn’t though, but he counts it as a win. Perhaps it’s not all bad after all if Spock can still tease him this way.

“I remember the first time I ever left orbit- well not the very first time of course, it would be ridiculous to remember the day I was born-“ He doesn't know why he's saying this or where it came from, as if he was overtaken by the urge to share something deeply personal. He cuts himself off when he realises he’s rambling and chances a look at Spock to see an amused brow quirked his way. He almost completely loses his focus under that look so he turns back to look at the stars. “Anyway. I was turning eight years old, mom was off planet, had been for months, I don’t even remember where. It was my birthday, you know how much I love birthdays.” he says, drawing out the love so it's impossible for Spock not to pick up on his sarcasm. He waits for his minute nod before continuing. “The morning of, Pike showed up at my door unannounced, real early, told me I was skipping school that day and hell, I wasn’t gonna argue with that. He drove us to Riverside and we took a shuttle out to the Luna Space Station where he was stationed at the time. Pike laughed because I was practically glued to the window the whole journey up, my mouth on the floor before we even broke the atmosphere. We spent the whole day there, Pike had even gotten me a cake, he got a whole bunch of his Starfleet officers to sing happy birthday to me. They had no idea who I was but it felt like they cared, you know. And I know, it’s a silly Terran tradition but- it meant a lot. No one had ever done anything like that for me before.” The sudden lump in his throat cuts him off, he coughs to clear it. Spock doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I had no idea Pike was responsible for your first trip off planet.” He says instead, his voice soft and quiet.

Jim sniffs and hiccups a laugh. “Pike was responsible for getting me a lot of places in my life.” He mutters sadly, the rest is left unspoken but it hangs between them.

“I was three point two eight solar years old when I first participated in an off planet expedition. My father was travelling to Earth for a gathering at Starfleet Headquarters and so my mother accompanied him as she always did when she had the opportunity to visit her home world.” Spock barely stumbles over his words when he talks about his mother now, but the tinge of sadness will be forever present. “She convinced my father that bringing me along would be irrefutably beneficial to my development as a young Vulcan and in cultivating my appreciation for science and intergalactic exploration.”

“Did he buy that?”

Spock ignores the colloquial phrasing. “It was logical.”

“Sure.”

Spock throws him a look that makes Jim mime zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

“We boarded my father’s private shuttle and my mother insisted I sit by the viewport even though my father said it was unlikely I would react in any significant manner. However, as we left orbit and my mother pointed back at Vulcan – she told me it was ‘home’ - I found myself-“ He pauses for long enough that Jim starts to think he might not finish the sentence. “Incalculably moved by the experience. It has never left me.”

“It’s why you joined Starfleet.”

Spock doesn’t answer aloud, but his eyes flick downward and that is telling enough. It’s probably as close as Spock has come to blatant emotionalism in his words and Jim hangs on to every word. He wants to know more, know what Spock feels when he looks at the stars, wonders desperately if it’s anything like what Jim feels, but he doesn’t push.

Then he remembers why he is here, and his swelling heart sinks once more. He looks away from the stars as if he’s betrayed them by getting lost, but he can’t look at Spock either so he points his gaze to the floor.

They fall into silence, but it’s awkward, not companionable like it used to be. Jim shifts his weight on the balls of his feet and racks his brain for how to get to the point of why he’s really here. He knows Spock would appreciate directness over rambling, but he doesn’t know if Spock would appreciate his concern. He takes a deep breath and decides to start with his own confession. It’s probably his best chance at getting Spock to open up without knowing Jim’s fishing for information.

“I was gonna leave.” It comes out barely above a whisper.

Spock doesn’t respond except for a minute tilt of his head, a gesture that would go unnoticed by everyone except Jim. For once he’s grateful for Vulcan hearing so at least he doesn’t have to repeat himself. He doesn’t clarify that he meant Starfleet, figuring Spock would know what he meant. If he has any questions, he doesn’t voice them. Whether his silence is an invitation to continue with an explanation, or because Spock already knows, Jim can’t be sure. The words fall from his mouth anyway before he can stop them.

“I was unhappy, restless, drifting. Disenchanted, I guess you could say. I applied for the Vice Admiral position at Yorktown. They gave it to me but- after Krall I-” He pauses, unable to elaborate further.

He figured once he started it would be hard to stop but now finds the words stuck in his throat, all his embarrassment and shame and guilt manifesting in a blush across his cheeks. He hopes it’s too dark for Spock to notice but knows his Vulcan eyes would see it immediately if he turned his head to look. Jim hangs his head in a redundant motion. Spock can probably feel his emotions through the meagre gap he’s left between their bodies anyway.

Spock keeps his gaze on the stars when he asks “and now?”

Jim glances up at Spock’s profile, his bangs casting a shadow over his eyes, the light from the passing constellations highlighting his cheekbones and jawline, the points of his ears. Jim’s knows his next words are important and takes a moment to choose them. “Now I know this is where I’m meant to be.”

He says it with a clarity he hadn’t really been certain of until he spoke the words aloud.

The silence consumes them again and Spock finally turns to regard Jim, watching him as if his face holds the answers to all the questions he’s searching for. It takes conscious effort not to physically squirm under the intensity.

Jim could never have anticipated Spock’s next words, but maybe he should have in light of his own revelation. “I too, was going to leave Starfleet.” Spock confesses after a long moment, his face neutral, unsurprised by Jim’s stunned reaction. His mouth quirks in something Jim has learned to interpret as nervousness, so slight Jim isn’t sure if he just imagined it. It churns his stomach, the thought of losing Spock.

“You were- what?” He exclaims, instinctively feeling something like betrayal, which he knows is ridiculously hypocritical given his own confession, and yet.

Spock quirks a brow at him, as if he wishes to point out the hypocrisy but knows better. He turns to look out of the viewport again and Jim gets the feeling that Spock isn’t just nervous, but embarrassed and… vulnerable. Jim wants to reach out, place a hand on his arm, tell him he’s not alone in that. He doesn’t.

“I felt that my contributions would be better served and appreciated rebuilding my race on New Vulcan.” Spock says matter-of-factly, almost rehearsed, a mantra he’s told himself over and over that if he tells himself enough, he might even start to believe.

His tone sits uneasy with Jim. He is about to speak when Spock continues.

“I found that this intensified overwhelmingly after the news I received-” He cuts himself off as his voice threatens to crack, the topic still too difficult for even Spock’s logical and often detached disposition to discuss.

Jim stands there, trying to maintain the stillness that comes so easily to Spock, but his feet ache. He forces himself to stand up straighter. His mind races as it repeats back the sheer emotionalism of Spock’s words: intensified overwhelmingly. His concern grows knowing how much Spock had struggled for control over the first year of their partnership, how negatively it had impacted him. He marks the thought for further analysis and instead echoes Spock’s earlier question. “And now?”

Spock uncharacteristically huffs out a breath of something approaching amusement. He repeats Jim’s earlier words. “I am where I am meant to be.”

Jim narrows his eyes, sensing there is more to that story. It is nigh impossible for Spock to change his mind once he has decided upon something, especially since he takes such great care in arriving at every decision using only hard facts and logic to guide him, never instinct or want or emotion. Jim huffs out a sardonic laugh.

“What happened to us, Spock? Where did we go wrong?”

“I do not know.” There’s a catch in his voice, a hint of melancholy threatening to break through.

“I miss you.” He blurts out, his shoulders finally sagging as he gives up trying to match Spock’s impossible posture. “I know, it’s illogical.” He adds before Spock can say it, he aims for a hint of teasing but it comes out more defensive.

Spock quirks a brow, turning not just his head but angling his whole body towards Jim. “Whilst it may not be logical, I find that it is nevertheless true.”

Spock looks at him with an intensity like he needs Jim to understand the hidden meaning but is also terrified that he will. Jim tries his hardest not to wither under his gaze, barely able to register that Spock essentially just admitted to missing him too.

“Okay. Okay.” Jim doesn’t know what to say now, he should have thought this through more before coming here. He doesn’t know how to fix it without just… doing it. No wasting time talking about how to get things back, just get them back. It seems like the most logical course of action. He smiles to himself. “So, wanna play a game of chess?”

“That would be agreeable.” Spock tilts his head, he’s radiating amusement. This is good. Jim’s confidence boosts.

“It’s been way too long since I’ve kicked your ass.”

“Three hundred and fifty-eight point two days to be exact.” Spock is being smug, overtly. Well, as overtly as he is able. “Yet only ninety-five point seven days since our last match.”

“Oh I am so ready to wipe that look off your face.”

“I do not understand-“

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t give me that.”

“I assure you-“

" _Spock_.” He doesn’t know what he’s trying to convey with just that one word but it halts his protests regardless.

Jim wants to nudge his shoulder but stops himself. He didn’t realise how starved he was of this, the easiness and playful teasing, Spock’s insistent ignorance of human expressions that’s fooling absolutely no one. He feels like he can finally breathe again, like he’s walking on solid ground after being in the vast empty vacuum of space for too long.

“My place or yours?” Spock asks dryly.

Jim gapes at him. Apparently that was the reaction Spock was hoping for as he honest-to-god huffs a laugh and turns on his heel. He begins to walk away whilst Jim is still rooted to the spot. “Jim?” He calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He shakes his head, hurrying to join Spock’s side. “Uh, your place?”

Spock only nods as the doors slide open.

They resettle in Spock’s quarters around ten minutes later, not a word has been exchanged since they left the observatory. They walked in step, Jim tried not to think of it as a symbolic representation of their mental resyncing. Thankfully, they didn’t see anyone else on the walk back, the ship eerily quiet, it must be later than he thought.

Spock sets up the board whilst Jim replicates them some Vulcan tea. Another thing he realises only now that he's greatly missed. He only drinks it when he's with Spock, the unusual bittersweet flavours an acquired taste. It took a long while to get used to and Spock never understood why he persisted if he disliked it so much. Jim couldn't tell him that the dry warm flavours made him feel closer to Spock, like he was able to learn something about him just by drinking it, that it made him feel closer to him mentally and physically as they would sit there and mutually sip tea over a game of chess or as they worked on a report together. He knew it was ridiculous to feel that way about something so simple as tea, but even after months of not drinking it, as the first wave of the smell that his mind linked so quintessentially to Spock he felt exactly the same. It was like coming home. He hesitates for a moment when he realises how instinctively comfortable he is in Spock’s space, wonders momentarily if he’s overstepped the line but as he hands Spock – whose expression is more open than he’s seen it in months - his tea and sits down opposite him, he knows it was the right choice.

“Who was white last time?” Jim asks as Spock puts the final pieces on the board.

“I believe it was you, Captain.”

“Jim.” He corrects before he can think twice about it.

“Jim.” Spock echoes, with a tilt of his head.

Jim finds he could not stop the ridiculous grin that grows across his face even if he wanted to. Spock makes the first move and it's so overwhelmingly familiar that it starts a chain reaction that makes his chest tight with nostalgia. Spock doesn’t say anything, but he does raise an eyebrow in fond curiosity. It’s almost enough to make him blush. Few words are exchanged once they begin to play, Jim’s thoughts straying back once more to the awkward mess of the past few months. He wonders what Spock is thinking about, if he feels the same.

They play in silence but unlike earlier it's starting to lean more towards comfortable than awkward, perhaps because the activity is so familiar. It isn’t long before Spock has Jim cornered on the third level, set to check him in three moves. Of course, Spock’s strategy is the same calculated logic as always so all Jim has to do is be completely unpredictable to force Spock into abandoning his strategy. When they first began their matches all those years ago, Jim was continually surprised that Spock agreed to keep playing him since considering he told him outright how frustrating he finds Jim’s ‘utterly illogical and unpredictable approach that on multiple occasions was simply cheating’, but after a while Jim realised he probably relished the challenge just as must as he did. Spock is by far the most enjoyable and challenging opponent Jim has ever played and it’s worth it just for the shocked, frustrated and confused almost-expressions he’s able to coax out of Spock during the majority of games.

“Check.” Spock utters, drawing Jim’s attention back to the board.

Jim looks at the pieces and can see four potential moves that give him the upper hand temporarily but all of which will have him checkmated in less than five moves. He knows that Spock knows this too, so naturally he moves an entirely irrelevant piece to an entirely irrelevant part of the board and hopes Spock won’t catch on for a few more turns. Spock’s nose crinkles the barest amount in exasperation and Jim fails to stop his chuckle. Spock catches on quickly of course, and ends up winning the game, but Jim finds he can’t care at all because it feels like he’s regained something way more important than the title of reigning chess champion.

Jim’s heart pangs when he leaves Spock’s quarters that night, like an opportunity has been missed. He tries to tell himself not to get too far ahead too fast, that it will take time to fix the void between them, but as he gets into bed and orders the lights off, he can’t help but feel like he should have worked harder to find a reason to stay.

-

It is Spock who finds Jim on the observation deck the next evening after shift, travelling there as soon as his shift was over and skipping dinner with the other senior officers. Jim was hoping that Spock would be there again and he is lost deeply in thought when Spock sits on the couch next to him, leaving enough distance between them to be just outside his personal space. It bothers Jim, he wants to be closer. Spock’s spine is perfect straight where Jim is splayed casually against the bulkhead, he resists the urge to fidget.

“I did not expect to find you here.” Spock utters.

“Did you calculate the odds?” Jim smirks, glancing sideways at Spock. Spock tilts his head, his mouth dropping open slightly. Jim huffs a laugh as he realises Spock is about to give him an actual percentage and waves his hand dismissively. “I was joking.”

“I see.” Spock sits impossibly straighter, as if he's nervous or uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jim blurts out a little too aggressively.

“That is unnecessary.”

Jim bites his lip as he considers the sincerity of Spock’s statement since he knows Vulcan’s are more than capable of lying and after judging it to be honest, he relaxes a little. They stay in silence like that for a long while and Jim forgets what even brought him here in the first place.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.” His words sound loud in the otherwise silent space, bouncing off the high ceilings and staying tangible in the air like an oppressive weight between them. Jim didn’t mean to say it aloud, but now he has and Spock has tilted his head in that curiously confused way and has actually turned bodily to face him.

“Excuse me?” Spock asks quietly.

Jim sighs deeply, running his hand through his hair and swallowing around the lump in his throat. He wonders if Spock would let him change the subject without question, but knows that deep down that this grief has been weighing heavily on him for weeks now and he really does want to talk about this with someone and has accidentally given himself the opportunity. Since he knows he'll never talk about it willingly again if he doesn't force himself right now talk he decides to push forward, ready to bolt the moment Spock so much as raises his eyebrow a millimetre. He sits up straighter but keeps the distance between their bodies. “Spock. I mean, the other you.” He turns his head away from Spock as he utters it as quietly as possible, thankful for Vulcan hearing.

Spock is silent for a long time. So long that Jim begins to worry that he’s walked out in that eerily silent Vulcan way of his. Finally, he whispers just loud enough for Jim to hear, “you are emotionally affected by this?” Jim balks as his assumption, it hurts.

“Spock.” His head snaps to look at him and his voice breaks, he isn’t sure why. “Of course I am. I’m-” He cuts himself off, feels the lump form again in his throat as a wave of grief crashes over him hard. Grief for the loss of Spock Prime and grief that his Spock assumed he what- didn’t care? “He’s you, Spock. I mean- he’s different but he’s still you.”

There are unspoken words that hang tangibly in the air. Words he so desperately wants to say to make Spock understand but he can’t bring himself to. Part of him wants Spock to hear them through the buzz, so that he doesn’t ever have to say it aloud, to make it real, but the other part of him is terrified of this feeling becoming acknowledged, of rejection. Yet it’s deeper than that.

“Forget I said anything, it’s stupid, I’m sorry.” He mutters, feeling embarrassed and awkward.

“No, forgive me Jim, I failed to realise.”

“Realise what?” His head snaps up to Spock, his stomach dropping with the horrible feeling that Spock knows about the depth of his regard.

“I had not realised that this news would not only affect me alone. I grieve with thee.”

Jim turns away again, unsure of what to say. His default reaction is relief, but as he thinks more, he is struck with the idea that Spock’s assumption is rooted in his uncertainty of his own significance in Jim’s eyes and that turns his stomach even more. Jim can’t quite quantify the emotion he’s feeling, as if whatever happens in the new few moments is the most paramount, but he suddenly knows he has to be completely honest with Spock if he has any chance of getting back what they used to have.

“We were close, you know, me and him. In the first year of my captaincy we would chat all the time via subspace and he was just- always there for me. He never judged me or looked down on me or doubted my ability to command like everybody else did. He always made me feel like I was in the right place, that I deserved my commission, that it actually was my destiny or whatever. Every time we spoke and he’d laugh like it was easy for a Vulcan to do or look at me like he was seeing through all my shit I was reminded of what I could become. What we could- should become. When we couldn’t stand each other, when you looked at me like you wanted me gone by any means, on those days where I wanted to quit just so I didn’t have to feel like I failed you, he motivated me to work towards that, like if I tried hard enough I’d find that amazing epic friendship that we were destined to have.” He stops to huff a depreciative laugh, shaking his head, unable to even look at Spock. He sobers, “but I- we- we hadn't been speaking as much in the past few months, it was all my fault. I don't even know why, life just got in the way I guess. As the relationship between you and me got better, the relationship between him and me just kind of... fell away and now he's gone and I feel so- so hollow, Spock. I wish we'd spoken more, that I made more effort to stay close to him.” The parallels with his relationship to this Spock do not escape him. He swallows around the lump in his throat, it hurts.

Spock is silent for a long moment and Jim can practically see the cogs in his brain working overtime to process. After a while he simply says “regret is illogical.”

“I know.” Jim tries to not to roll his eyes at the borderline insensitivity and forces his voice into evenness.

He watches Jim for a long, intense moment and whatever he sees seems to change his mind about what he was about to say next. “I am certain he knew that you… cared for him. He had a long and prosperous life with much to be proud of. His presence is still felt in that which he left behind and he lives on in our memories.” He pauses, as if he's not sure whether to continue. “I, on the other hand, am still here.” He sounds as shaky as Jim has ever heard him and it moves something deep within him. It’s an improvement on his original response at least. His words sound like an acknowledgement but more importantly they sound like an offer and it floods Jim with warmth.

“Yeah, you are.” He smiles and is almost certain he's imagining it when he thinks Spock smiles back. “You still are.”

He realises only then how much closer Spock is, bare centimetres away from touching. He isn’t sure who closed the gap, perhaps it was a joint effort, it always seems to be that way, as if they are a binary star system destined to orbit each other with intensifying speed until they finally collide. Jim’s hands ache with the need to reach out and touch Spock, a tangible buzz surrounding them that’s obvious from a mile away.

It turns out that he doesn’t have to find the words in the end as Spock finally, finally closes the distance between them, cupping his hand under Jim’s jaw and pulling his lips to meet his. Jim is so stunned that he freezes, and Spock’s eyes have slipped closed and his lips are soft and so damn tentative and it's overwhelming. Jim finds his own eyes fluttering closed and after the initial shock, he pushes back, already breathing heavily into Spock’s mouth. Spock makes a noise that can only be described as a whimper as his other hand fumbles around for Jim’s. When he finds it, he intertwines their fingers and squeezes tightly as the barrage of Jim’s emotions hits him in waves. He feels the longing, disbelief and desire that matches his own and it’s so overwhelming he has to break them apart.

Jim moans at the loss of contact but presses his forehead to Spock’s, his eyes still closed. They are both breathing heavily.

“Finally.” Jim whispers, his voice cracking on the single word.

Spock doesn't say anything, instead closing the distance and pressing his lips to Jim’s again, this time even softer than the first. Jim can definitely feel the way Spock’s lips are tilted upwards ever so minutely and if he wasn’t so disgustingly smitten right now he’d break away just to point and laugh in Spock’s face about how he always knew he was a smug bastard.

“I should have done that a long time ago.” Jim says, his breath ghosting over Spock’s mouth.

Spock only hums in agreement. Jim pulls back to look at him, his hands running up and down Spock’s arms. Spock’s eyes blink open slowly as if waking from a pleasant dream and it’s one of the most beautiful sights Jim has ever seen.

“Why didn’t you?” Jim asks, “and I swear if you say some bullshit about Starfleet Fraternization Regulations so help me.”

“I assume for the same reasons as you.” Spock replies, tilting his head and lifting an eyebrow. “Lack of clarity regarding the reciprocation of desire and a resulting fear of rejection.”

Jim laughs. “I don’t know Spock, I feel like I was pretty obvious. Especially after-”

“You forget I am not particularly well vested in the particularities of human romanticism.”

“I guess we really do suck at this whole communication thing, huh?” Jim huffs a humourless laugh.

“Indeed.”

“Well, it’s never too late to learn.” Jim smirks before grabbing Spock’s collar and bringing him flush against him with a kiss that sets them alight. They are learning each other fast, eager to explore every available point of contact. Jim feels giddy with it, hands beginning to roam without thought: carding through Spock’s hair, down his arms, up across his back.  The surprised noise Spock elicits when Jim slips a hand underneath the hem of his shirt only spurs him on further. Everything else falls away until the only thing that's left is each other, nothing else matters. Jim feels like he’s falling, metaphorically and literally, and it’s in the middle of this thought that Spock finally breaks them apart, placing both hands on Jim’s chest and barely resisting the urge to clutch desperately at the fabric. “Jim. Shouldn’t we talk about this?”

Jim smiles at the reluctance in Spock’s voice. “Later.” He leans in to resume but Spock keeps his hands placed firmly on his chest.

“Jim. I was under the assumption that we were attempting to improve our communication skills.”

Jim knows that Spock is just as if not even _more_ stubborn than he is, so with the blatant lack of conviction in his protest, Jim knows he’s won this one. “We are. Who said it had to be verbal communication?” He smirks and wiggles his brows.

Spock blinks as he processes Jim’s unexpected response and both eyebrows almost disappear behind his bangs. “You raise an interesting point.” A pause. “Continue.”

“See? Now we’re on the same page.” Jim beams, his heart blooming with warmth, desire and anticipation and this time when they kiss, they meet halfway.


End file.
